


The Idealists

by sabinelagrande



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Masquerade - L.A. By Night (Web Series)
Genre: Childe & Sire Interactions, Childe/Sire, Consensual Vampirism, Discussion of Consent Issues, F/M, Future Fic, Past Annabelle/Eleanor (LA By Night), Past Annabelle/Mark Temple, The Kiss (Vampire the Masquerade), on my bullshit 2kforever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 03:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16360052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Carver comes back, and Annabelle leaves.





	The Idealists

It's not that Annabelle gets bored of the coterie. It's hard to get bored when Victor is still masterfully grabbing power and delegating responsibilities, or when Nellie needs complicated planning to show in New York or Milan. Even Jasper has things going on, though he's the one most likely to have time to just sit with her, even if he likes to pretend sometimes that he doesn't like it.

The problem is that she doesn't have anything outside of it anymore. Mark and Eleanor have moved on; they moved on together, actually, which hurts and feels good at the same time. Annabelle tries a few times to get back into the protest scene, but now it seems hollow, since she's seen the puppetmasters at work. She may still look it, but she's not a college student anymore. If she's going to cause change, it's going to have to be in a different way.

And in the middle of this, Carver shows up.

"Find out what you can," Victor says, handing her a black AmEx and a burner phone. "Remember who has your back."

"Get pictures of the jacket," Nelli says, kissing her on both cheeks. "I need something to tie the fall collection together."

"I don't like him," Jasper says, still not letting her hug him, "but I'm glad that you do."

"Ready to go, baby doll?" Carver asks.

"Let's get out of here," Annabelle says, and they do.

Things are fast with Carver, doing the kind of swift in-and-out that his work requires. By now, she knows how to move as fast as he does, though his other powers surpass hers. He leads her on a whirlwind tour of the Anarch States, and they break and mend and provoke and control.

Annabelle loves it.

Her feelings for her sire are more complicated than that. Despite how highly he speaks of her, despite how much he seems to respect her, she still thinks about it, his ultimate betrayal, the way he stole her life from her. The fact that he really didn't, that he gave her more life when hers was completely over, doesn't make things easier. Also not making things easier is how drawn to him she feels. The noble anarchist thing is her type all over, and being in proximity is only making him more attractive. 

If they're sitting still, they're asleep, so she doesn't have much time to act on any of her feelings, if she wants to act on them at all. No opportunity even comes along for the first few months, but all of a sudden they hit a break she's not expecting. There's a Camarilla summit that they're definitely going to infiltrate, but they finish their previous job a week early. Suddenly there's nothing to do but hole up and wait. 

Carver is owed a favor- a regular favor, not a boon, and Annabelle knows now how important the distinction is- and they have relatively nice surroundings, a municipal bomb shelter converted by an aspiring Kindred into a sanctuary. It's mostly empty of other occupants, just a few Nosferatu who keep to themselves, and Annabelle actually enjoys it, just a little time to be off her feet.

This means more time alone with Carver; the two of them go out occasionally, having a bite or meeting up with contacts, but a lot of the time they're just hanging around. It's a few hours before dawn on the third night, and the Nos haven't returned. Carver is sitting on the bed in their room, trying to instruct Annabelle on how to play a card game that Annabelle is not paying attention to, and eventually he sets down his hand.

"What's on your mind, kiddo?" Carver asks.

She shakes her head, trying to clear it. "It's nothing."

"In my experience, it's rarely nothing," he says.

"This is just different, you know?" she says, gesturing to the space around them. "Gives me the creeps a little."

She can tell that he sees right through her bullshit. "Uh huh," he says. "Couldn't possibly be anything other than paranoid twentieth century architecture, then."

"Don't worry about it," she says.

"Worried isn't the word," he says, "but if you're expecting me to let this go, I'd think again."

This is the moment; she's let so much go unsaid, but now she doesn't know if she can do that for another instant. "Those first nights, I organized my world around hating you for what you did to me," she says haltingly.

"That's the real curse of the Kindred," he says.

"And then I found out that wasn't what happened at all," she says.

"Would you rather have died?" Carver asks; he sounds more curious than accusatory. 

"Honestly?" Annabelle says. "Not anymore. And it was-" She clenches her hand, unclenches it. "It was the most incredible thing I ever felt, and I hated myself so much for enjoying it."

"I didn't ask your permission," he says. "I couldn't, and I'm not going to apologize for that. But if you want to like it, baby doll, you should. From what I remember, the Embrace is pretty fucking great until you start changing." He tilts his head. "What would you have wanted?"

Annabelle frowns. "What?"

"Pretend you still had to do it, but you could do it again," he says. "What would you want?"

"I don't know," she says. "I would have liked to have been asked."

He takes her hand, pressing his lips to the back of it while looking her in the eye. "May I?"

There's a long pause, and neither of them look away.

"Yes," she says softly.

"Keep talking," Carver says, lacing their fingers together. "How do you want it to go down?"

"How does it usually go?" she asks, and she wonders why she doesn't pull her hand away.

"When it's not attacks in alleys, you mean?" he says.

"Yeah," she replies.

"It depends," he says. "The Tremere have this whole ritual, the Ventrue treat it like a business transaction, the Toreador like to make it as dramatic as possible."

She huffs. "Sounds about right."

"Seduction is the usual, if there is a usual," he says, running his thumb over her skin, and she realizes she doesn't want to pull away at all.

"So the books and the movies were right for once," she says.

"Wanna see how accurate they are?" he asks. He doesn't move, though, just keeps sweeping his thumb along her index finger. The touch is maddeningly light, and something about it makes her break. Without saying anything, she climbs into Carver's lap, straddling him. He doesn't seem surprised by it, just pulls her down to kiss her. 

His mouth is cold and tastes of copper; she wants to recoil for a moment before she remembers hers must be exactly the same way. After a few moments, she can't even taste it anymore. She's not sure she'd care either way, when Carver is sliding one hand up under the back of her shirt, his touch cool but enticing. She can't remember the last time she was touched with intent; she knows when it was, because it was either Mark or Eleanor and right before she was turned, but she has a hard time putting all that together in her mind, the way it felt to be alive and in love and so turned on she couldn't think.

Carver isn't in a hurry; he takes his time, kissing her deeply, his hands wandering over her body. Annabelle relaxes into it, giving as good as she gets. It doesn't feel like it did when she was mortal; she feels excited, she craves more, but it isn't exactly like being aroused. Maybe she can't do that anymore, which is a bummer, but that doesn't mean she's going to stop. 

He pushes her shirt up, and she takes the hint, breaking off so she can pull it off and toss it away before diving back in again. She sighs into his mouth as he cups her breast, kneading it gently. It feels different, but she also feels like she's wanted it forever. She thought she'd always hate Carver, but she wanted so badly to be able to be wrong about that, to accept what happened as an unfortunate necessity instead of harboring that anger. She doesn't know if she'll ever be fully there, but this is happening now, and she's not going to stop.

He moves away from her mouth, nipping her ear. "If this keeps going, I'm going to bite you."

"How will it feel?" she asks. If her heart could beat, it would be beating out of her chest, and somehow she still feels a rush.

"You'll need to feed after, but you're gonna like it," he says. "No death this time, I promise. I'm not into diablerie."

Annabelle takes a breath, even though the motion gets her nothing. "Okay."

He shifts their positions, lifting her up easily and pressing her down into the bed, her legs wrapped around his waist, her head tilted back to give him all the room he needs. Carver doesn't bite down right away; he kisses her neck instead, like he's mapping it before he chooses the right spot. It hurts when his fangs pierce her skin, but instantly the feeling is washed away by intense pleasure. This time, it's what she wants; this time, she doesn't have to feel guilty or fight back. She lets herself sink into it instead, letting it consume her utterly. It's the same feeling as when she was Embraced, and she feels the whole of it, every drop of pleasure. It feels like a release, but not solely a physical one; she feels a weight lift from her heart, like a burden is gone now.

The feeling rolls on, and her whole universe is narrowed to Carver, his body against hers. He's cool and solid, and she goes completely lax, unable to urge him to drink deeper, like she wants. She wants to be consumed whole, just like she was before but better, and there is nothing left of the part of her mind that knows that's a bad idea. It feels like the best orgasm of her life, only stretched out over eternity; it feels like the only thing that's ever been and the only thing that ever will be is this pleasure, all-consuming and utterly decadent. She'd do absolutely anything to prolong it, absolutely anything Carver wanted her to do, but mostly she just wants to lay here and take and take and take.

She feels a sense of loss as it tapers off, as he licks the wounds closed and rolls to the side, holding her to him without holding her down. For a moment she wants to beg him to do it again, but she comes back to herself, tired but satisfied, in ways that she still needs to unpack.

"Why do I feel so exhausted?" she says.

"I took your Vitae," he says matter-of-factly. He turns away from her and rummages in his backpack, coming up with a large, sealed mailing envelope; he rips it open, producing a bag of blood they lifted from a blood bank. "Here. Have a snack."

Annabelle takes the bag, resisting the urge to drain it immediately. "Are you sure?"

"I can get fresh later," he says. "Drink up."

The blood tastes like plastic, but she drinks it anyway. She feels the Beast snarl in disgust at the inferior meal, but with new blood in her system, it's easy to ignore. She hands the now empty bag back to Carver, and he sets it aside before putting his arms around her again.

"Things are going to get fucked up if we do that with any kind of frequency, and I haven't gotten it up in about twenty years," Carver says, "but if you ever want to make out or cuddle or whatever, I'm here."

"Aren't you afraid of getting too close and getting distracted?" she asks.

He laughs. "You don't get any closer than a sire and a childe," he says. "We were always going to be connected. I'm just suggesting we be connected by the lips."

"That sounds nice," Annabelle says, and this time it doesn't feel like a surprise that she wants it. "Not that we get much of a break ever."

"You'd get so bored if we did," he says. "You belong out there, making change happen. That's why I Embraced you in the first place."

"I don't hate it," she says. It's a small thing, but the look on his face says that he heard it for the giant confession it is. He pulls her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. The dawn comes, and they're still like that, still entwined. The last thing Annabelle thinks before sleep takes her is that it might always be that way, the two of them tangled up together.

And the strangest thing is, she thinks it might not bother her anymore.


End file.
